Still not getting notifications although I have done everything the site requires, even changed my email address. I am trying to wrap this up quickly before posting becomes too troublesome. This is a chapter that moves the plot forward although it may appear nothing much happens. Thanks to any readers.

Six

It wasn't yet light when Adam woke but unlike his usual waking, he didn't lie and drowse awhile or wake with hot desire for Sibella and reach for her. He glanced over and in the pale light, he watched his wife as she peacefully slept, her back to him. "Oh, Sibella," he whispered, "no matter what trouble you cost me, you're worth it." And then, once awake all his troubles rose like phantoms including Tom Miller having seen his wife floating naked in a lake. Sibella had explained what had happened, why she decided to swim and the reason Miller gave for his presence. And Adam believed her but despite all that, he felt aggrieved in a way he knew was foolish. But if he could, he'd challenge Miller to a duel to defend Sibella's honor—or his-and shoot Tom Miller right between the eyes. The thought was satisfying.

Adam arrived at the office an hour earlier than usual and when he pulled out his key and held the knob before inserting it, the knob turned in his hand: it was unlocked. He swung open the door and Miss Pear was already at her desk, typing. She glanced up at him.

"Oh, Mr. Cartwright, you're early." She appeared flustered and reddened, her eyes and face puffy, but otherwise, seemed her usual impeccably neat and capable self.

"You as well. I thought I'd have time to look over those contracts before you got here." Adam carried his leather portfolio with his embossed initials, a gift from Sibella and personalized by Morgan Graham. "I brought them in with me; didn't have time last night to go over them."

Miss Pear stood up, smoothing her skirt and adjusting her blouse's collar. "I made coffee. Can I bring you some?" she asked. "And I bought some sweet rolls at the diner in case you were hungry." She interpreted her boss' look, she knew him that well; he didn't like when she spent her own money on anything having to do with the office so she quickly added, "I took the money from petty cash as you always told me."

Adam chuckled. "Good. And you are a mind-reader, Miss Pear. I would love some coffee-had to drink my own this morning with only a slice of buttered day-old soda bread to break my fast. Would you bring in two rolls with the coffee?"

"Of course, right away. Is Mrs. Cartwright ill?" Miss Pear held hope that after what Thomas had confessed at Sunday dinner, that Mr. Cartwright had tossed out his promiscuous, unfaithful wife. That any woman would seduce another man when she had Adam Cartwright sharing her bed, was beyond Miss Pear's imagination. Many a fevered night, Miss Pear had lain in her bed and just as young girls imagine their first kiss, she imagined her boss as her first man.

"No. Why…oh," he chuckled. "I woke up first and let her sleep. She's fine but thank you for your concern."

Adam went into his private office and after taking off his shoulder holster and jacket, sat down and pulled out the contracts; he should have read them last night but once he and Sibella had arrived home and he had shed his holster, vest and hat, well, she had convinced him the rest of the evening could be better spent another way than perusing boring contracts. And how could he refuse her? So, sweeping her up into his arms, Adam carried his laughing wife upstairs to toss her unceremoniously on the bed and then joined her. Sibella warned him that one day he'd break the bed and they'd go crashing down through the ceiling to the parlor below. But now, sitting at his desk, he had to read them since Miss Pear had gone through all the trouble of working Saturday morning while he was at the funeral. And then she sent Miller the next day to deliver the contracts…and at the thought of Miller and the lake and Sibella, Adam again felt anger raise within him.

There was a light knock on the partially open door and Miss Pear walked in with a mug of coffee and a small plate of two sweet rolls. "They're still fresh. I'll bring you a napkin." Miss Pear hurried out before Adam could thank her. She dutifully brought in a napkin and asked if there was anything else he needed.

"No, Miss Pear, nothing." He waited but Miss Pear stood, silent; it dawned on him she must have cried last night, the cause of her puffy face. He also guessed she knew about her fiancé and Sibella and wanted to say something but all he chose to say was, "Is there something else?"

"No, sir. I suppose not."

And the whole morning went on with Miss Pear avoiding Adam's eye and between typing and filing, she busied herself with cleaning the coffeepot and making a fresh pot, watering the potted palms and the philodendron on the plant stand by the door. Using scissors, she pruned the dead fronds off the palms and the longer vines from the philodendron so the top would remain full. When Adam brought out the revised contracts, Miss Pear quickly went to work retyping them, looking at them instead of him.

A little after noon, Adam stepped from his office, shrugging on his jacket. "Miss Pear," Adam said, "it's lunch. You've been working nonstop this morning. Why don't you take a long lunch, get in some shopping; it's a beautiful day. I have to go to the bank and the courthouse and then I'll grab something to eat."

Miss Pear looked up and Adam saw tears glistening in her eyes. He hoped she wasn't going to cry. He dreaded dealing with women's emotions and whenever he attempted to comfort a distressed woman, it never worked out well for him; it seemed they misconstrued his actions. But despite his aversion to becoming involved, he felt he should ask. "Is there something wrong, Miss Pear?" He waited before adding, "Do you need to talk about something?" He hoped she didn't.

"No, no. I just…I think I will get out for a bit. Perhaps go home for lunch. My mother wasn't feeling well after dinner so I should check on her." She quickly stood, pulled her short jacket off the back of her chair, opened the bottom desk drawer to retrieve her reticule and pulled her straw bonnet with the faded violets off the hat stand by the door. She opened it but paused as Adam put on his hat. Was she waiting to walk down the stairs with him? "Enjoy your lunch, Mr. Cartwright." Miss Pear started to leave but turned. "I was just wondering, would you like to have lunch with my mother and me? I think if she knew you better…well, it might change…." She stood up a bit straighter. "Never mind. I know you're a busy man."

"Perhaps another time, Miss Pear," Adam offered.

"Yes, perhaps." And she left.

Walking to the bank Adam considered that eating lunch at Miss Pear's might start some tongues wagging and the last thing he wanted was gossip; he had enough trouble just dealing with Sibella and her peccadillos. But what was it Miss Pear had said about her mother? "It might change…" Change what? Why did all women have to speak in riddles? After the court house and bank and a quick lunch at the Imperial House, Adam returned to the office and Miss Pear was sitting at her desk, her head resting in her hands. She slowly looked up. And although he didn't want to, Adam knew he had to ask. "Are you all right. Miss Pear?"

She stood up. "Not really. I have quite a headache. But I checked for mail and telegrams and I put them all on your desk. I know I usually open the company's mail, that it's one of my duties to collate and such, but I left them for you since, well…. I'm up on my filing and typing so would you mind if I left early?" She touched her left temple, rubbing it.

"Not at all. Go ahead and take the rest of the day. And thank you for picking up the mail." Adam watched while Miss Pear hurriedly gathered her things and headed to the door as if she couldn't get away fast enough. "Miss Pear," Adam said. She turned and had an odd expression of hopeful expectation. "I hope you feel better soon but if you're still ill tomorrow, take the day off. I can bungle through a day without you. And I…we need to talk about your replacement."

She offered a tremulous smile and then left, closing the door behind her. Adam sighed with relief; there had been no tears, no sobbing woman for him to comfort and he was deeply thankful. Hopefully, the mail held no bad news.

~ 0 ~

"Don't worry, Mr. Cartwright," Moss said taking Adam's horse. "I'll rub him down good and give him a scoop of oats with his hay."

"Thanks, Moss." Adam turned to go to the house but Moss stopped him.

"The Missus, she's been steppin' out on the porch lookin' for you all ev'nin'. Seems mighty worried with you bein' so late."

Adam gave Moss a crooked smile. "Yeah. Well, you know how women are, if there's nothing to worry about, they'll find something."

"Yeah, that's why I ain't got no wife."

"Oh?' Adam said, cocking an eyebrow.

"Well, that and smellin' like horse shit." The two men chuckled and Adam still had a smile on his face when he walked into the foyer and hung his hat.

"Oh, Adam," Sibella said having heard him come in. "Thank God you're home. I was so worried."

"No need to be." He pulled off his jacket and hung it as well, then unbuckled the holster strap across his chest. "I stopped by Esther's to see how she was and she insisted I eat dinner; she'd just made a pot of stew and fresh biscuits. So, I stayed and she wanted to talk about Morgan so I listened." Adam placed his gun on the high shelf and then lightly kissed Sibella who was in her nightgown and wrap. "I'm really tired and I'm sorry I'm late, sweetheart."

Sibella followed him into the parlor. A fire was burning and the room was warm and to Adam, comforting. But Sibella was still distressed anew knowing he had been at Esther's. "I was getting ready to send Chauncey or Moss out to look for you. I feared you might be dead, met up with a violent robber or fallen off your horse and broken your neck or, well, anything could have happened!"

"Sibella, that's a little dramatic, don't you think?"

"No, I don't. Awful things happen all the time and, well, I'm just glad you're finally home." Adam practically dropped into his usual chair, pulled off his tie, leaned his head back and closed his eyes. "There's a warm plate for you in the oven. Pork roast and mashed potatoes, gravy, and there's apple pie… But I suppose you don't want it."

"I don't, thank you though. But would you pour me a whisky?"

Sibella did so and held it out. "Adam?"

Adam sat up and took the glass. "Thank you." He took a sip and leaned his head back again, closing his eyes but still holding the glass. "Noah in bed?"

"Yes." Sibella sat on the sofa and watched her husband. Here she had been waiting for him, pacing in the parlor and intermittently checking outside hoping to hear his horse arriving and fearing it would arrive riderless and he had dismissed it. She had been close to panicking at moments and prayed fervently that Adam would soon be home safe and sound. And he was home and despite not being more considerate of her fears, she silently thanked God again.

"I'll have to look in on him," Adam said, "and touch that little head. I always feel something's missing when I don't see him." Sibella wanted to reply that it was his own fault he missed seeing his son but held her tongue. Adam seemed unusually subdued and that concerned her. "My Pa bring him over?"

"Yes. About ten this morning. Your father stayed for lunch too and Mrs. George made him a special lunch—a grilled ham and cheese sandwich about an inch thick. He loved it! And then he had a slice of her hot apple pie with his third cup of coffee. They chatted away the whole time; she even sat at the kitchen table with him talking about everything under the sun! And I still think they would make a wonderful couple. I might suggest he take her to the upcoming church dance."

Adam smiled although he hadn't yet opened his eyes and looking at his relaxed face and tender mouth, Sibella suddenly saw him as the motherless child he had once been. Who had comforted him when he had been hurt? What loving mother had kissed his smashed finger or the bump on his head? "Adam?" He opened his eyes. Something in her voice was odd. "Would you like me to rub your temples?"

"Yes." Adam leaned forward in the chair and suddenly Sibella saw Noah as a grown man and it almost made her gasp. But she could help Noah—and Adam as well.

"Come here and put your head in my lap." She scooted to one end of the sofa and Adam pulled off his boots and lay down, his head in Sibella's lap. He sighed and Sibella began to stroke his hair and gently massage his temples. He settled his head and felt his neck and shoulders relax. "Is Esther coping with being alone?" she asked.

"She's trying."

"Did you ask her yet about working for you?" Sibella waited for his answer, moving her fingers in circles on both sides of his head and into his hair.

"No, not yet. I actually stopped by to ask if she'd ever met Tom Miller."

"Tom Miller? Why?"

"Because when he was leaving, he called Esther by name. Remember?" Sibella suddenly stopped massaging. "Don't stop, sweetheart—please."

She resumed massaging Adam's head. "That's right. Now that I think about it, he did. He tipped his hat and said, 'Mrs. Graham'. Had she met him?"

"She said no."

"But he knew who she was…and now that I think on it, before he left the lake, he said something odd to me…yes, he told me to be careful who I loved if I don't want my heart broken. But he used unusual phrasing. He told me to be careful who I hang my heart on. That was it."

Adam sat up. "Oh?"

"Yes, but it's just silly, isn't it?" Sibella frowned. "But now that I consider…Adam, was that a threat? Was he threatening you? Maybe we should tell Sheriff Coffee."

"Sibella, just because Tom Miller says something enigmatic, something that doesn't make sense or mean anything, you think I need protection. He didn't threaten me or you or anyone else. Don't overreact. You've worried enough for one night Why don't we just go to bed. I'll lock up. Go ahead."

Sibella reluctantly went upstairs to bed while Adam checked the kitchen door and windows. Then he closed the front parlor window and pushed the lock. But before he locked and bolted the front door, he reached up to the shelf to get his gun and went out on the front porch, looking about. Adam knew what Tom Miller had said was a threat and somehow connected to Esther and Morgan. But he didn't know just how or even why.